


boredom and rouge

by theappleppielifestyle



Series: base / structure /roof [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:04:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In MJ’s defence, he had been getting desperate finding ways to procrastinate on his essay, and the lipstick had been <i>right there.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	boredom and rouge

**Author's Note:**

> How hot would Michael B Jordan look in lipstick though.

In MJ’s defence, he had been getting desperate finding ways to procrastinate on his essay, and the lipstick had been _right there_.

 

It starts off as a glance when MJ looks around Gwen’s room yet again to find something to distract himself with, and ends up as a staring contest. His eyes slide past it several times, gaze making the route around the room before catching on it the sixth time he looks around.

 

Gwen doesn’t wear a lot of lipstick, usually just lipgloss and the occasional liner. MJ has heard her say it’s because lipstick is a bitch to maintain- it rubs off on anything that comes in contact with her lips, like glasses, food, Peter, and in the most recent two months, MJ. Which MJ has appreciated very much, lipstick or otherwise.

 

It’s on her study desk, is the thing. Gwen has a makeup-and-accessories desk, which is filled neatly with things that MJ has seen his aunt and his sister use, things he knows take at least ten minutes to do properly due to having stage makeup caked on him whenever he’s cast in a big production. MJ takes more pride than he probably should in the knowledge that he can name at least seven things on that desk that he doesn’t think most guys would know.

 

But it’s on her study desk, which is equally neat and stacked with paper and files and handy post-its that MJ has been stealing by the dozen, meaning to use them to become productive himself, and then never getting them out from the bottom of his bag.

 

The tube of lipstick looks out of place in between Gwen’s colour-coded post-its, and MJ tells himself this is the reason why he gets off of Gwen’s bed and goes over to pick it up. He turns it over in his fingers: it’s named something french that sounds vaguely apple-ish, a little appetizing. The lid comes off with a pop, and it doesn’t look appetizing in the way he’d want to eat it, but it looks… appealing. It’d be nice on someone’s lips, that’s for sure. It’s maybe a bit too bright, too dramatic for Gwen’s pastel wardrobe, but on someone else it’d be pretty good.

 

And then- then, for some reason, MJ turns, and finds himself looking at the mirror embedded in the wall above Gwen’s makeup table, and sees himself holding the lipstick, and thinks, _hey, this colour would really suit me_.

 

It _would_ , is the thing. It would bring the hell out of his eyes, look awesome with his skin tone- MJ’s always suited bright colours, he’d rock this lipstick. He’s worn chapstick before, uses it religiously in the winter when the wind makes his lips chapped, what difference is lipstick?

 

He considers it, turning the tube around in his fingers again as he walks closer to the mirror. Yeah, he’s going to rock this colour. Bright reds are his thing, okay. They’re his _thing_.

 

He bends so he can see himself properly, and then- carefully, he’d feel horrible forever if he ruined Gwen’s lipstick, it looks expensive as shit and it’s _French-_ slides the tip of it over his bottom lip. Then he does what he’s seen his aunt and sister do a million times: he rubs his lips together, and then tidies up the parts that have gone uneven on his upper lip. Then he does another coat, making the colour more vivid, and repeats. Then he leans back, raising his eyebrows at his reflection.

 

“Rocked it,” he says under his breath, his newly-slick lips sliding up in a smile.

 

Of course, that’s when Gwen walks in. It is her room, after all, and she hadn’t said how long it would take to walk her little brother down to the shops, so MJ shouldn’t be so surprised when she comes in. He is, though, and straightens up fast and awkwardly with the tube near-forgotten in his hand.

 

Gwen is talking as she closes the door behind her, pulling the hood of her hoodie down: “Peter called to say he’s going to be late, Aunt May’s teaching him how to use the washing machine _again_ because for some reason his mind goes blank whenever he tries to-”

 

She trails off when she absorbs the sight in front of her, the stiff shoulders and the still-raised eyebrows and the too-red-to-be-natural mouth.

 

“Uh,” MJ says. _I can explain_ , he wants to continue, but MJ thinks he’ll start cringing even worse if he’s that cliche. “I was bored,” he says instead, which is true enough.

 

Gwen is blinking at him with those big eyes that were the first thing he ever noticed about her. Her mouth is bare, not even lipgloss on it, her skin showing the freckles that are covered when she wears foundation, and her hair is puffy around her shoulders.

 

This Gwen has always been his favourite.

 

“You can have it back,” MJ says, holding the tube out when he realizes he’s still holding it. “The lid is over there. On your study table. Where the lipstick was, for some reason. Is it from France? The lipstick? The name sounded fancy.”

 

Her step forwards is distracted, taking the lipstick from where he’s offering it to her like she’s on autopilot. She’s still staring at his mouth.

 

MJ reaches for her box of tissues, nextled in between her makeup brushes and the eyelash curler she is yet to use despite having it for seven months. “I’ll take it off-”

 

She blurts, “No, what, no,” and almost slaps his hand away from the tissues. He’s pretty sure it’s a slap. Felt like it, anyway.

 

She’s blushing now, which is something he doesn’t see often but when he does, he tries to extend it as long as he can.

 

The slow smile is coming back, this time victorious. “Gwen?”

 

“Mm,” Gwen says, blush coming in strong and the same red as his lips are right now, eyes still trained on his mouth.

 

MJ gestures. “Do you like it?”

 

Watching Gwen try to play it cool is more adorable than the time he saw those two squirrels in central park playing what he assumed was charades. She hums and waves her hands in a way that she obviously means to be non-committal, but ends up nearly hitting MJ in the face.

 

“Oh my god I’m sorry,” she blurts when he has to duck out of the way. She winces. “Sorry. Yes, I like it. It’s- I like it.” Her hands wave again, less frantic this time. “You look nice.”

 

MJ can’t help it- his smile, is possible, gets even cockier. He’s been told it’s a good look for him, so he makes sure to do it as often as possible. “Just nice? Are you sure I don’t look more than nice? I think my lips done up in-” he mumbles an approximation of the French and continues, “deserves something better than _nice_.”

 

“It’s very nice,” Gwen says, her voice pitching when MJ moves closer.

 

He’s bending in for what he assumes will be a strange-feeling kiss when Gwen’s pushing fingers on his chin stops him. “If you’re comfortable with it,” Gwen says slowly, “I was wondering if you would let me try eyeliner on you.”

 

-

 

Half an hour later, Peter does the smile-and-nod at Gwen’s parents before going up the stairs to her room. He’s slinging his bag off his shoulder when he walks in, meaning to drop it on the floor near the door when he catches sight of Gwen and MJ and his bag ends up banging on his knee and then staying there as he forgets to drop it.

 

“Um,” Peter squeaks, taking in the sight of his girlfriend sucking a hickey onto their boyfriend’s neck, as said boyfriend tips his head to give her access. Their boyfriend, who, if Peter’s eyes aren’t deceiving him, is wearing eyeliner and bright red lipstick.

 

“Peter,” Gwen greets, pulling back, MJ’s eyes fluttering open, and oh, Jesus, his lips are parting and the lips have lipstick on them and Peter’s brain can’t process how hot it looks.

 

“I was exploring colour palettes,” Gwen explains, and nudges MJ’s new hickey with her nose. She’s grinning the way she only does when she’s turned on, and her breath is heavier than usual.

 

MJ’s smile is sly and hot as fuck. “What do you think,” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes- _mascara_ , Peter’s blood-starved brain supplies.

 

He doesn’t know how long it is until he manages to choke out, “You look- really good, MJ. I like the, uh,” he says, and waves his hand towards his own mouth, which he’d really like to be in close proximity to either of their mouths right now.

 

Gwen giggles, curling closer to MJ. “I know, he looks great, right,” she says, sounding punch-drunk. She reaches an arm out to Peter. “C’mere.”

 

Peter does, remembering to drop his bag about halfway between the door and the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> They totally do an impromptu photoshoot after they finish making out and re-apply MJ's makeup.


End file.
